Can you feel 'nothing' ?
by ncis-lady
Summary: Spoiler DH! Never thought this day would come so soon. We had no time to say goodbye. How can the world just carry on? I feel so lost when you're not at my side... How does George deal with it? Includes some music by Within Temptation.
1. Our Farewell

**WARNING: SPOILERS FOR HP 7 WARNING: SPOILERS FOR HP 7**

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Ok don't say I haven't warned you. So this is simply something I really missed during the Battle of Hogwarts, because I cried when Fred Weasley died, and it made me wonder how his twin must feel. There was nothing about it in the book, so this here is George's point of view about what happened. 

I'm not a native speaker and don't have a beta reader, so if there's something terribly wrong just let me know, but forgive me minor mistakes. ;) Furthermore, I want to say that my style of writing, all those "and"s and long sentences are used on purpose, I think it fits the situation, I can't explain why.

However, I'm talking to much. I had to get this out of my head because the thoughts were haunting me, so here's the result:

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**CAN YOU FEEL 'NOTHING'? **

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**1. Our Farewell**

The air was filled with jets of light, red, green, silver, gold, blue, they flew through the halls and corridors of Hogwarts, people were screaming, falling down, vanishing into nothingness.

He held on tight to his wand, he knew he mustn't losen the grip, and as he stared at the hooded figure in front of him, he knew what he had to do. There was no thinking, it was mere intuition, and he didn't know how long he would be able to keep that up.

A jet of orange sparks passed only inches above his head, burning a bit of his red hair, he could smell it and yet he didn't care.

"George, behind ya!", a yell, he turned round and drew his wand, "Expelliarmus!", "Stupefy!", the tall man fell to the ground.

"Thanks Dean", he panted, not wasting time on long chats, and turned round again.

The voices around him echoed in his ears, wait, no, it was only one ear, he reminded himself and couldn't help a little grin, he had never thought he'd laugh at a place, in a situation like this, but if Fred could just see him now, yelling "Holy shit!" every few seconds, he would join in his laughter and maybe even forget the horror they were in.

"Dean!", he called between some desperate moves of his wand. "Have you seen Fred anywhere?"

"He's off with Percy!", came the answer, and George shook his head in amusement. After all, the prodigal son had returned. Maybe there needed to be moments like this to get your family back together, he thought as he watched his elder brother Bill fight alongside with his father from a corner of his eye.  
Suddenly the ground beneath his feet shook heavily, making everyone stagger and stare around in confusion.

"What was that?", a young man, whom George recognized as Oliver Wood, his former Quidditch teammate, shouted.

"Dunno!", his friend Dean answered helplessly while protecting himself from the sparks smashing around him.

George closed his eyes for a split second, he knew it was foolish, but it happened, and the most strange feeling emerged inside his body, a sensation he couldn't describe, it was something he'd never experienced before, something beyond fear, beyond pain – nothing. Could you feel 'nothing'?

"George!", he was pulled down by a strong hand, his face hit the ground, it hurt, and he saw the green jet of light ricochet off the marble wall, and it was his mother's eyes that stared at him with an expression he couldn't determine.

"It's okay, Mum", he assured her and patted her slightly on the shoulder, and she understood. There would be plenty of time later. At least he hoped so.

Time passed by and he lost his sense of it, he couldn't tell how long they had been fighting, it seemed so endless, and sometimes he could hear it, the voice inside his head, trying to convince him: 'You cannot win. It's all for nothing.'

And then there was silence. The dark figures retreated, and for a short moment he thought 'We've done it, it's over', then the most frightening voice hit the Great Hall with such force that he shivered on the spot, and it took a while until the words reached the one ear he got left.

_"Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat, immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured…"_

George gazed around in bewilderment, maybe it was the sudden silence or simply the fact that now, for the first time in what seemed an eternity, he wasn't distracted by battle, that he noticed how many were actually suffering from the wounds they had received. Firenze, the centaur, laid on his side, bleeding heavily; a Ravenclaw boy was clutching his arm; a deep cut slashed Bill's already scarred face; his father was limping slightly. George took a deep breath, his chest ached where it had been hit by a spell he had hardly noticed, and he spotted dried blood on his left hand, whether it was his or someone else's he didn't know. He was alive. He went over to his mother, and finally, there she was, hugging him as if she never wanted to let him go again.

"It's alright", he muttered quietly. "Everything'll be fine."

A shout erupted from somewhere near him, he needed a second to realize it was Bill.

"Percy!"

"Oh God I'm so glad you -"

He heard his father's voice, stopping in mid-air, as if stupefied by three wizards at once, and he felt his mother's grip losen, her eyes staring at something behind his back, and it wasn't until he heard her scream that the emptiness he had felt before overcame him again, with so much more intensity that for a moment he felt like falling to the ground, but finally he caught himself.  
He didn't want to turn around. He dreaded the moment he'd have to face what he feared most, and still he knew he had to, he knew it by the sobs that found their way through the thick mist that seemed to be closing in on him, he knew it by the fragments of words of his brother, "It – it – so dark – and he…", he heard the voice breaking off, and he turned around.

The world stopped turning, all noises evaporated, he didn't see anything but the figure on the ground, the flaming red hair on the white floor, the closed eyes, the laugh on the familiar face.

He felt himself falling down, and he didn't try to prevent it, his knees hurt when he collapsed on the hard ground, but the pain didn't reach him because there was no place left to feel physical pain. His hands reached out and touched the cold skin of the young man below, and all his senses were screaming inside, yet he couldn't say a word, he wanted to, he wanted to yell at his brother, tell him to get up and make a joke about his ear, but there was only silence.  
He saw his mother fall down onto his brother's chest, tears streaming down her face, "Fred… oh Fred, no, please…", he heard his father's empty voice, helpless, tired, "Molly…", he had never heard his father like this before. His mother looked up, their eyes met, and he saw the grief reflected from her kind eyes, his mother's eyes, and he still refused to believe what he, in some distant part of his soul, knew was true. He knew it because there was something missing, a part of him he had always taken for granted, and now it was gone, leaving nothing behind. Could you feel 'nothing'?

There was Bill's voice, "How did it happen?", a croaked, hoarse whisper with the sound of tears, and George shut out the answer, he didn't want to know. It didn't matter to him, there was no way to make it undone like some Transfiguration, no chance he would get up again as if he had been Stunned. He wouldn't move. Never again would he see him waving his wand, catching toffees with his mouth, mount his broom for a Quidditch match, flirt with the girl from the robes shop next door. The thought hit him like a Cruciatus Curse, sending twinges through his exhausted body, sharp knives that cut deep into his soul. Twenty years he had spent with this boy who was now lying there motionless, twenty years. They had gone through it all, together, and suddenly he was alone, utterly alone, despite the people around him whose voices he heard as if speaking from a distant place, a place he didn't know anymore and to which he would never return.

He saw Ron approach, slowly, his dirty face showing silvery lines where tears had run down, his little brother was finally with them, and some part of him wanted to run over to him to make sure he was real and not a ghost in the air. But there was another part of him which made him stay still on the ground, holding his twin's head in his hands and not letting go. His mother's tears dropped onto Fred's robe and mingled with the blood on his chest, a silvery glance on crimson cloth, painted with the cruel fingers of Death and Grief.

It was only then that George realized that he wasn't crying, his eyes were dry, and he wondered why until he knew that it was simply because there was no way to express his feelings, no words, no tears could show how he felt. Emptiness. Maybe it was emptiness. Nothingness. Could you feel 'nothing'?

A hand suddenly rested on his shoulder, a human touch that made him flinch, he had almost forgotten there were such things as feeling warmth.

"George?" The voice was shaky, tear-soaken, and still it magically found its way through the misty air around him. He knew this voice, but he didn't remember to whom it belonged, what did he know at all?

Finally he managed to raise his head, and his brother was staring down at him, he hadn't seen him for far too long, and now they were here, united in their pain, and he remembered his thoughts that seemed to long ago, maybe there needed to be moments like this to get your family back together, but never had he thought that his family would never be together again.

"Bill, he…", he couldn't go on, he choked hard to fight back the tears, but as he looked into his brother's blue eyes that were like a mirror image of his own, of Fred's, he couldn't hold them back anymore. He hardly saw Bill kneel down at his side, he only felt his arm around his shivering shoulders, and the tears streamed down his face as he shut his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the world, the people, the truth, reality. His sobs died away into his brother's ragged robe, his grief was carried away into the wide open of the Great Hall that was a symbol of what had happened, the place in which they had shared their laughter, their sorrows, a part of their lives, a place that was now shattered to pieces, torn apart, like the part inside him which he thought to be his soul. A soul ripped apart, because it had always been shared by him and his brother, not able to live on without its counterpart.

And as he heard the horrible voice again, telling them to come out and surrender, he lifted his head and only his elder brother could see how dark his eyes had become, and he clenched his wand and looked down at his twin. He would not retreat, because fighting was the only thing left to do, he had nothing to lose, there was nothing left to save his own life for.

Could you feel 'nothing'?

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_Never thought  
This day would come so soon  
We had no time to say goodbye  
How can the world just carry on?_

(Within Temptation, "Our Farewell")

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**A/N: I might write a second chapter, because imho everyone deserves a funeral... **


	2. Somewhere

A new chapter, and well, it's not about a funeral... but you'll see. You may have notice that I named the chapters and added some text below. The texts are from songs by Within Temptation, I listened to the music while writing, and it fits the mood I was in. Melancholic, sad lyrics. The names of the chapters are the songs from which I took the lyrics.

However, no more talking, just read, and I'd appreciate some reviews!

Oh and: I don't own anything!

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**2. Somewhere**

The old wooden door creaked as he opened it, and for a short moment he was surrounded by darkness. Then his fingers found the light switch and in the next second, the room was illuminated by a warm, yellow light. He looked around and the fact that it was just like he had left it took him by surprise. How could it be that there were the same pictures on the wall, the same colourful sweets in the boxes in the corner, the same dusty cupboards? His eyes spotted the calendar just above the counter, and something was wrong, but at first he couldn't tell what.

Then he realized that the date was wrong. Due to the little paper card he had travelled two days into the past.

Two days… how could it be only two days, when time had passed so incrdibly slowly since… the day? And why had time stopped when this wasn't an ordinary calendar but a bewitched one?

George stared at it for a long time, not able to think straight. It had worked properly when he had seen it the last time. Two days ago. When he had left the shop with…

And then it dawned upon him, and his shaky fingers reached out to the magical object. It had stopped working when the world had stopped turning, because the one who had enchanted it had died. Absentmindedly he wiped some dust off it. Then he stepped back, because the dust made his eyes blink. It had to be the dust, he told himself.

His footsteps echoed in the silent room, and it made him shiver. He had never heard them before, not when there were children running around, parents shouting, wands exploding and people laughing. Not when he hadn't been alone.

He caught his reflection in the window, and he stared at a stranger who he vaguely remembered, somewhere in the deep corners of his mind. A young man who once used to smile, who was now tired and worn out like an old warrior suffering from a war and the wounds he had received. Involuntarily George's hand flew up to the hole at the side of his head and the memories of the night came back immediately.

'_With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for holey?'_

'_At least you'll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.'_

But Fred had been wrong, and so had he himself. They hadn't had the world before them, but who could have known? They had been aware of the risks and they had taken it voluntarily, because it was what they loved best, and they had been daring and proud and young.

And now here he was, a boy of twenty years, one half of a soul, alone. With no one to tell him apart from.

He couldn't stand the silence, and for a moment he thought that probably he should have stayed at The Burrows, with his family around. Then he realized that it wouldn't have been easier. He had returned home after the battle only to find a dead house. No laughter erupted from Ron's room where Harry used to stay, no giggling from Ginny and Hermione, and instead of lamenting about Bill's long hair, the only words of his mother were drenched in tears. George had searched refuge in his old bedroom, only to find his twin's presence waiting in every corner, in the trousers still lying on the chair, in the magazine with some singer waving happily at him, in the organizer on the desk which had been a present from Hermione for their 17th birthday. More out of despair than curiosity had George opened it, not knowing what he was hoping to find, but still he had been hit with disappointment as it had been absolutely blank. Fred had never been the type of organizing anything in his life.

'_Just going to make it up as we go along, are we? My favourite kind.'_

George shook his head to clear himself from the memories. How eager had they been to fight, to risk their lives, to save the world. But what was the sense in saving the world, he wondered in despair, when the world wasn't the same anymore? When the world he used to love was gone, replaced by a cold place he was suddenly stuck in alone?

He had to get away, all his senses forced him to leave, not to stay in here where everything reminded him of his brother, but where should he go to? It didn't matter, because every street, every pub, every shop in Diagon Alley reminded him of Fred, they had never gone anywhere alone, it had always been both of them. Fred and George. The twins. Now there was only one, but what was the sense of a singular form? There wasn't such thing as 'one twin', he thought bitterly, not when he didn't feel like something whole at all. Something hole, maybe. His lips twitched with a smile while he felt his eyes beginning to sting again.

"Dammit!", he screamed, and kicked the box that was nearest to him. A loud shriek filled the silent room, and George winced. He looked closer at the items in the box. Footballs, ordinary, black-and-white footballs, screaming when they were kicked. It had been Dean Thomas' idea, he remembered, and even then he and Fred hadn't been completely convinced about it.

'_Who in their right mind would want to play a game in which you aren't allowed to fly?!'_

Of course Fred had been right, they hadn't sold one single ball but the one Dean himself had bought. He had always been right, and even if he had been wrong he had still tried to make believe that it had all happened according to plan.

"But plans fail, Fred", George whispered, his voice barely audible. He bit his lower lip and turned his head away from the football on the ground. His eyes found the door, and for a moment he could see Fred coming in, beaming all over his face, and he took a step forward. But the door didn't open. He stared at it for some more seconds, then turned on the spot and headed for the opposite direction, to the staircase that led up to the rooms above the shop.

As he set foot on the first stair he hesitated. He hadn't been up there since… He choked. But something forced him to climb up, he didn't even think about it as he approached his brother's bedroom. He sat down on the bed, his head in his hands, inhaling the scent that still lingered within the decorated walls. He could hear the rain dropping onto the roof, and he shut his eyes tightly as he clenched his fists. Maybe, if he just concentrated hard enough, he could go to another place, another time, somewhere, anywhere. A place where he could see his brother again, tell him everything he had never told him simply because they had all the time in the world. And anyway, there was no need for words, no need to express how they felt. It was a wordless language they spoke to each other, the kind of magic only twins could discover.

But there had been words. Then, back in the castle.

'_Take care, little bro.'_

'_Hey, we're twins in case you've forgotten! You're not…'_

'_I'm 5 minutes older than you, George, and don't you try to deny it!'_

'_Whatever. Just… look after yourself, will you?'_

'_I will, and so will you. I want the shop to re-open this week!'_

'_Sure.' Silence. A hug._

'_And George…'_

'_Hey, there are Death Eaters waiting for us!'_

'…_I'll never forget that. Never._'

The rain was falling harder, and it seemed to George as if Heaven was crying, the raindrops mingling with his tears that were streaming down his face. Heavenly tears flooding the streets below to wash the pain away, but he was here, and nothing in the world could take away the pain inside. And he wasn't sure if he could take the pain on his own, but for the first time in his life, George didn't have anyone to share his pain with. Because the one with whom he had shared everything was gone, and he was left alone.

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_Lost in the darkness  
Hoping for a sign  
Instead there's only silence  
Can't you hear my screams?_

(Within Temptation, "Somewhere")


	3. Memories

Hey guys, another song, another chapter. I love Within Temptation, but listening to these songs while reading fanfics about Fred always make me cry... But enough about me. I hope you like the chapter, I love using symbols and other stylistic devices, maybe you'll notice that. Review if you like!

I still don't know anything.

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**3. Memories**

George opened his eyes when his sobs finally eased, and he rubbed his face hard with both hands. He knew it was useless, everyone would still be able to see that he had been crying, but maybe it was a way of make-believe, to fool himself, pretending that if he just rubbed hard enough, the pain would go away with the tears.

For a few minutes he only sat there on the edge of his brother's bed, staring at his feet on the wooden floor. He remembered that, when he and Fred had been younger, they had always competed against each other about who was taller. They used to sit down on Bill's bed and move back until the feet didn't touch the floor anymore. Of course they had cheated, lifting the heels a little bit, just so much that it wasn't visible to an outsider. George had done it, but Fred as well, they both had known it and realized that there was no need to compete: they were exactly the same size, just like they had the same number of freckles on their faces and the same talent to raise trouble.

"And trouble we made", George grinned and wiped a single tear away that had dared to leave his eye.

Slowly he stood up, staggering for a second. His eyes scanned the room, the poster of the Chudley Cannons on the wall, the paper sheets on the desk, and all the other stuff that made the room such a mess and yet the most precious place on earth. There was a little box on the desk below the window, and George picked it up, staring at the tiny little thing as if he had never seen it before. Of course he had, but this was one of the few things they had never talked about. Actually, George had never felt the need to ask, because he knew that Fred would tell him everything if it was important. The young man touched the lid of the box with his fingertips, painting bizarre patterns into the dust. Dark lines on grey background, revealing the shining wood underneath the layer. He felt like he was discovering something mysterious, something that was beyond his imagination – the only things his soulmate had kept secret from the world to know. He didn't even expect anything spectacular or shocking, but still it took him a while to finally make the decision to open it.

He took out the items, one by one, carefully as if he could destroy them just by touching. Soon they were scattered on the desk, little motionless pieces, fragments of a life. George recognized the ticket for the Quidditch World Cup, and he remembered the stadium, the atmosphere, the pride and fear. Their bet with Bagman – how careless had they been! But, he thought, who could have blamed them? They had risked it all, and they had beaten the odds.

Maybe you could only beat them once in your life? He didn't know. The pain inside his chest increased as he saw it all again, the cheering crowd, the green flags on the tents, the Dark Mark painted on the sky. The forest. He could still smell the forest through which they had run, and he almost felt his heartbeat getting faster, they had run so fast, stumbling over wood, trying to get rid of the fear.

_'What if something terribe happens… what if someone doesn't make it back to the tents?'_

Fred's red hair in front of him, clearly visible in spite of the darkness, his reference to guide him away, Fred had grasped Ginny's hand, leading her into safety.

_'What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O.W.Ls?'_

The last thing I ever said to you… if they had only known she'd have to say those last words so soon. But, he wondered, could you ever prepare yourself for last words? What would he have told Fred if he had know that they'd see each other never again? He didn't know, and thinking about it brought back the tears.

Almost gently he put the piece of paper back into the box, then his sight fell upon something else. A ribbon, scarlet red in colour. He picked it up and held it in his right hand. Thoughtfully George stared at it, barely feeling the thin fabric in his palm. He knew that there was something about the colour, he had seen it before – and then his memories flooded back, and he was back at Hogwarts, hidden in the boys' dormitory, emptying his closet while talking to his brother in a low voice.

_'Are you sure we ought to do this?'_

_'Haven't we talked about this before?'_

_His fingers grasping his scarlet red Quidditch robes. The look at Fred. The resolution reflected by his vivid mirror image._

_'Alright then.'_

_Silence. His brother's voice, suddenly serious._

_'I'll miss it, though.'_

_Fred putting something into the pocket of his trousers. Their eyes meeting._

_'So this is it.'_

_'We can do that, George, believe me. I know we can.'_

He had never known that Fred had taken the ribbon of his Quidditch robe with him, but it didn't surprise him at all. Despite everything that had happened that year, they had always loved Hogwarts, and leaving hadn't been an easy decision. The red ribbon was the last connection to the place they had been calling home for so long.

He reached into his own pocket, searching for the shop keys. The cool metal made him shiver, or was it something else that did this to him? There they were, two red ribbons, one tying the silver keys, the other one just being. One and the same, pieces of the past, of glory days. Glory days they had never forgotten, days of joy, of triumph, of pranks and plans.

_'Time to test our talents in the real world, d' you reckon?'_

The real world… the real world had been wonderful, a wide open, another adventure to seek, another challenge to meet. They had known that.

They hadn't known that the real world was cruel.

His view got blurred as he raised his head just to look away from the red lines on the desk. They looked almost like traces of blood, deathly reminders of a time that seemed so close and yet so far away. Instead, he stared out of the window at the dark sky. It had to be in the middle of the night, but what did he care? It wouldn't bother anyone if he walked around in the room, he was alone in the empty house.

Alone. There was the word again, a word he had never known because it had never existed. Never. And now never was now, and all his senses were screaming in agony as he saw the door reflected in the window, it seemed as if there was someone standing there, a red-headed figure lingering in the doorway. George reached out to him, trying to touch it with his shaky fingers to tell him to stay, but all he could feel on his skin was coldness.

"Please don't go…", his words were silent cries, unheard, unanswered, echoing in the nothingness around him. Every word a shot through the heart, tearing his soul apart, and it hurt so much that he couldn't take it any longer. Hurriedly he grabbed the stuff off the table and put them back into the box, closed the lid and pushed it away. There it was, as if nothing had happened. It was there just like Fred had left it. So why couldn't Fred come back like he had left, in his blue jeans and sweater, with tousled hair and sparkling eyes?

Again George looked at the little box, and he noticed the lines in the dust, and it was this that made him realize that life didn't work like that. The past couldn't be changed. He wouldn't come back, no matter how much he wished and prayed and begged, no matter how he would give everything only to have his brother back, to feel whole again and be able to breathe at last. He would never return.

He stumbled backwards, he had to leave the room, it was suffocating him. He felt his chest burning as the sobs uncontrollably rose in his throat, he searched for the door, his escape, and suddenly he was outside. His back touched the wall, and he didn't find the strength to go any further. He slid down to the floor, pressing his knees to his chest. He hoped that it could ease the pain in his heart if he only pressed hard enough. But as the tears streamed down his face like they had done so often before, and his sobs filled the empty house, he learned that nothing could erase the hurt when you were alone.

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_All of my memories  
Keep you near  
In silent moments  
Imagine you'd be here  
All of my memories  
Keep you near  
The silent whispers, silent tears  
_

(Within Temptation, "Memories")

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**A/N: I know I'm a slow writer, but I promise there'll be more, so I hope you keep reading!**


	4. Pale

Another chapter, and still not finished. Hope you like it. I know it took me a while to write, but I just didn't find the time, and I finished this chapter today in the middle of the night, I really hope there aren't too many mistakes! Read and review, if you like!

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**4. Pale**

His sobs eventually ebbed away, but George remained sitting on the floor, his head buried in his arms, as if he could hide from the world pretending not to be there. His breathing calmed down, but it ached inhaling too deep. The house was quiet, and he wondered when he had been suroounded by silence the last time. He couldn't remember.

He had never been alone, his entire life had been filled with company, either at home or at school, there had never been a calm moment. And he hadn't needed it. Fred had always said, "I'll be resting long enough when I'm dead, so why do it now?"

George wiped his eyes again at this thought, but there were no tears anymore, his eyes were dry and most probably red. He had never thought that someone could actually dry up by crying, but now that he felt like crying but couldn't, he found out that it was possible. He had no tears left to cry, and he appreciated this, because he didn't want to cry anymore. He wanted to laugh, to smile a bit at least, Fred would have wanted him to do exactly this, he knew it. But just like he couldn't cry anymore, he couldn't make his lips form a smile either. What should he smile about? His brother was gone, a part of his soul was missing, and there was no way he could get it back.

He knew he ought to get up, there was a lot of work to do, but he just couldn't find the strength to go downstairs into the shop again and keep going on as if nothing had happened. And surely Fred wouldn't demand it, would he? What would he have done if… well, if he, George, was the one missing? What if Fred would be alone?

Alone. The words sounded so strange, like a foreign language he could somehow understand but not speak. It was a word he had naver had to deal with, because Fred had always been there. Always, George remembered, but for twice in their lives. The first time had ripped off his ear, the second time had ripped his soul apart. George bit his lower lip hard not to scream out in pain as the waves of guilt began to haunt him again. He knew there was nothing to feel guilty about, he knew he shouldn't blame himself or anyone else, but he couldn't make it go away. Maybe, if he had been there, he could have… But Fred hadn't been alone, he reminded himself, Ron and Percy had been with him, and they hadn't been able to do anything, so him being there wouldn't have made a difference at all. And still the quiet voice was there again, sneering at him, 'You've left him to die!', and while he had fought it down in the Great Hall, he was now to weak to resist.

It was not that he didn't want to live anymore, not go on with his life, but he just didn't know how to do this alone. It oughtn't be so difficult, millions of people lived their lives without their siblings, but this was different. They hadn't only been brothers, not only the best of friends, they had been one. They had grown up together, made plans and dreamed, hell, they had even finished each others sentences because they knew what the other one was thinking! Fred being gone seemed to unreal, and somewhere in his mind George prayed that he was caught in some sort of nightmare, one of those bizarre ones which you could never interpret and eventually declare as rubbish. The kind of dreams Professor Trelawney would always love. But it wasn't a nightmare, simply because Fred had always noticed when he had slept badly, and woken him up. Now there was no waking up, and the realization that this bad dream would last forever made him numb.

Suddenly Geoge heard a noise from downstairs, and he stood up quickly and wiped his face again. It couldn't be a customer, he knew he had put up the "Closed"-sign at the door. And he had done this for one reason: so that he didn't need to see anyone. So why did some folks not understand English these days? George took a deep breath and went downstairs. His footstpes echoed in the silence as he entered the shop. Someone was standing with his back to him, but when George approached, the man turned around.

"You?", George asked in disbelief. "How the hell did you get here?"

"Well, believe it or not, but I'm quite good at Apparating", his brother Percy replied.

"You demonstrated that often enough, thanks", George said mockingly, and for a blink of an eye he could see Percy grinning sheepishly, but then he flinched and his smile vanished.

"I've never been the perfect brother, haven't I?"

"You were busy enough being the Prefect brother, guess that was enough for you."

Geoge was surprised by his own voice, he hadn't intended to sound sound so cold. But Percy didn't seem to have noticed as he began strolling around in the shop, stopping here and there. George watched him impatiently until he finally couldn't hold it back any longer.

"Percy, why are you here?!"

The older man froze, then he turned around, and to his horror Geoge saw tears trickling down from somewhere beneath his thick glasses.

"This is the first time I'm here."

His voice was more like croaking, so much unlike his normal, Ministry voice, that George had to look away from him so that he didn't have to watch him cry. But he didn't know what to do, either, so he just stood there, looking around in this room he knew by heart, and waited.

"George, did you… did you ever talk about me?"

Normally George would have laughed about this question, it was so stupid, of course they had, but as he saw Percy's face he didn't feel like laughing at all. He hesitated, then he nodded.

"Okay." That was the only word Percy said, and this made George look at him more closely.

"'Okay'? That's it? That's what you came here for?"

Percy shook his head and avoided his younger brother's look.

"I don't want to know what you said about me. You talking about me shows me that you cared, in which way soever, and that's all I wanted to know. In fact, that's more than I could hope for."

George didn't know how to reply to this, so he didn't say anything. He was lost for words, because his brother was telling him this without accusing him, he said it matter-of-factly as if he was talking about cauldron thicknesses and stuff, but his eyes belied his emotionless words. Finally George cleared his throat.

"How are Mum and Dad?"

"What do you expect?", Percy asked sadly. "Dad's trying to keep things up while Mum bursts into tears everytime she looks at this stupid clock or when she finds one of those… uhm, Tommy toffees…"

"Ton-tongue toffees", George corrected automatically.

"…or when she listens to the radio and they play this song… well, actually she's nearly always crying or wiping her eyes, although she pretends to be alright when she needs to, but we all know it. And I know she feels bad about it, seeing that Dad doesn't cry at all. She doesn't know, though, that I watched him yesterday in the garage, and he was staring at the old Ford, and I could hear him crying." He sighed and George choked hard. Had he really been so consumed in all his grief that he hadn't noticed anything?

"Maybe I should get back and…", he stopped in mid-sentence. There was no "maybe", he had to get back the next day, no matter how much he had tried to forget about it.

"Will you say something at the… the funeral?", Percy asked quietly as if he could read George's mind.

The funeral. He clenched his fists and fought back the tears as his body began to shake. How could this word be connected to his brother, it was a word for old people, for the sick ones, but not for a young man with his life before him. Not for his brother. He wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn't come out, and his eyes were suddenly stinging again and his view got blurred. He was hardly aware of the hand that gripped his arm, he felt himself moving until he was gently pushed onto a chair, and he remembered where he was. They were in a back room of a shop, filled with boxes and papers, and as he looked up he was staring straight at his brother who was sitting opposite him.

"You alright?"

He took some deep breaths to get rid of the violent shakes that rushed through his body, and he appreciated it that Percy let him calm down on his own. The last thing he needed was a hug, because that would definitely reduce him to tears again in no time. He didn't know how much time had passed when he nodded slightly.

"Yeah, I'm okay." He fumbled with the sleeves of his shirt, then he said: "And yes, I will say something."

If he only knew what he wanted to say. What did they expect him to do? There were a lot of things he could tell them, but they knew most of it, and what they didn't know wasn't meant for them to know. How could he tell them what a wonderful person Fred had been when they all knew it themselves? How could he say how much he missed him when they all missed him the same? How could he explain how he felt when he knew that this was beyond their imagination, as they had never experienced something like the bond they had shared?

"You'll find the right words", Percy muttered, and he sounded so assuringly that suddenly George was glad that he was there.

And still the question still burned inside his chest, and he knew that only his brother could tell him the truth, but he also knew that even thinking about it would wake up the voice inside his head.

Percy got up from his chair and smiled weakly at his younger brother.

"I have to go now, I'm afraid. I promised Mum to be back soon."

George nodded absent-mindedly. Obviously his mother drew strength from the fact that her son was back, the one she had been missing even when the rest of the family had at least pretended not to.

"Well then", Percy hesitated, "I think I'll see you tommorow, won't I?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?"

Geoge looked at his brother, he saw the concern in his eyes, but he shook his head.

"No, Percy. I need to… work some stuff out… on my own."

He had expected his brother to try to persuade him to follow, but nothing happened. For the first time his older brother seemed to understand. Percy went over to George, and as he felt his brother's hug, George felt like it was about time.

"Did he suffer?"

He was surprised that his voice was clear, and Percy stepped back, staring at his brother, and for a moment George feared that he might have asked the wrong question. But again, Percy seemed to understand that he needed to know.

"No, he didn't." George searched in his eyes for evidence that he was lying, but Percy didn't look away, and suddenly George knew that he was telling the truth. He just knew it.

"Thank you."

As Percy had Disapparated, George remained in the small room, and his face was still pale and his eyes red, but if you only came close enough, you could see that something had changed. There was a smile on his face, barely visible, but it was there.

A few minutes later Geoge was sitting at the desk, a piece of paper in front of him. He would find the right words, it was just a matter of time. And he wouldn't be a Weasley twin if he ever let himself get into a hurry for paper work.

_I have to try  
To break free  
From the thoughts in my mind  
Use the time that I have  
I can say goodbye  
Have to make it right  
Have to fight  
'Cause I know in the end it's worthwhile  
That the pain that I feel slowly fades away  
It will be all right_

(Within Temptation, "Pale")

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	5. Hand of Sorrow

Finally I've managed to upload this chapter! Somehow I couldn't do that yesterday. I hope you like this one, I had planned to make this the penultimate chapter, including the funeral, but while I was writing, it developed in a different way and became quite long. So I decided to split it into two chapters, and I'm satisfied with it. ;) (Actually this is the first time I cried during writing...) So please read and review (and please, guys, if you put my story to story alert or favourites, I'd be so glad if you left a little comment!).

I want to dedicate this chapter to MBP, thank you for your reviews and for your wonderful stories :-)

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**5. Hand of Sorrow**

It was already dawning when George was finished, but he didn't care about not getting any sleep. He wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway, and furthermore he was more than used to staying up at night. He had done it from time to time in the past, getting too excited about new ideas for the shop and spending all night discussing with Fred about it. And he had done it even more since he had stopped discussing the joke shop.

He watched the sun rising through the window of his bedroom, the clouds had finally vanished, and it would certainly be a nice sunny day. George wasn't sure if he liked that or not. A rainy day would definitely fit his mood much better, but on the other hand Fred deserved the most wonderful day as it was his last one.

His last day. The last time. The words echoed inside George's head, and the pain they caused made him want to lay down and cry and never get up again. He hardly remembered the night after Percy's departure, how could it be that he had actually been smiling, seeing that now he didn't think he'd ever be able to smile again? His hands grasped for the piece of paper in his pocket, and although it ought to give him security, he felt more helpless than ever. Everything had seemed relatively easy, or at least manageable, but the more time passed by, the less he believed that he would even make it to the second sentence. He wasn't as much afraid of plain talking but more of having to face his family, seeing his mother and father crying, his brothers and his sister sitting in a row, seven people he loved with all his heart, seven people wishing for only one person to be back with them.

George closed his eyes to fight down the tears, he didn't want to cry now, because the worst part was yet to come, and he would need all his tears later. With his tears gone, there would be nothing left, and if he couldn't cry anymore, then he didn't know how to get through this without suffocating.

Almost mechanically he put on his black robes, the silky fabric was cool and in a strange way comforting. Maybe he could just pretend that it was an Invisibility Cloak, he wondered. He'd really prefer not to be seen by anyone, because being seen meant to be looked at with pitying eyes and to be spoken to in this quiet, careful voice people used to speak when they knew deep inside that none of their words could ease the pain.

Slowly George climbed down the stairs into the shop and took a short glance around. Everything was at the right place, the windows were closed and he could already see the first people on the streets, a tiny witch with an enormous hat hurried by, a group of men were talking agitatedly, one of them gesturing wildly at the others, pointing at the newspaper in his hand. Things were getting back to normality in the end, George thought and it made him feel like an outsider in this world he had once been a part of. It all seemed so far away now, the times he used to stroll through the streets and alleys, buying school books with his mother and long for things he couldn't afford. Now he could have it all, but the one thing he wished for the most he would never get.

He took a deep breath and turned on the spot to Disapparate to The Burrow. He felt the familiar sensation and then he was – about 100 metres away from the cottage. No surprise, he thought, had he forgotten about Concentration and Determination? Well, he couldn't blame himself for having his mind on other things, but still he cursed under his breath in a way his mother would definitely not approve of. Thinking that he still had this much respect for his mother made him grin, but then he remembered that him cursing was probably the last thing to upset her this day.

He set his eyes onto the house he was approaching, the place he had always called home and in which he had grown up with the people he loved most in the world. He had always looked forward to returning to it, despite the rows he and Fred had had with their parents from time to time. It had still been a wonderful time, the innocent years of childhood – they were over now, he realized. Without even noticing they had all grown up and left those years behind to face the world on their own without parents and teachers to guide the way. How they had loved their freedom – and how he wished he could go back to the childhood days now.

The nearer he came to the house, the more he could see, the chimneys on the roof, black silhouettes in the dawn, the old fence around the garden, and in the distance he could make out the field in which they had used to practise Quidditch.

With every step he took he realized that his view became blurred, and when he was finally at the doorstep, he had to wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his robes. He entered the house, and suddenly everyone was there, and as he looked at all the beloved faces he felt like his feet wouldn't support him any longer. His mother was going around in the room, he could see her red eyes and her shaking hands; his father was sitting on a chair with an inscrutable expression on his face; Ron and Hermione were sitting close to each other and so were Harry and Ginny, Harry stroking his girlfriend's hand slightly. He could see Bill and Fleur in the garden in a close embrace; Charlie and Percy were standing in a corner of the room, their hands in their pockets, staring at everything and nothing at all.

His mother came towards him and hugged him, holding him much longer than she used to, and he could feel her tears on his own face. For a second he held on tightly to her robes, trying to fight back the shivers that began to overwhelm him, and he let loose.

He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what he should tell her, because all his words couldn't erase the hurt on her face, and that was all he wanted in that moment. He was thankful for his father finally raising his voice, although 'raising' was probably the wrong word, George thought, given how quiet and weak the familiar voice suddenly was.

"I think we…", Mr Weasley paused for a moment, appearently trying to regain strength in his voice, "we should go now. The others will be there about half an hour later."

George knew why the rest wouldn't join them immediately, but his heart tried in vain not to think of it.

The graveyard wasn't far from The Burrow, it was a nice, somehow mysterious place with big oaks casting shadows onto the grey stones and a gravel path meandering between them. George stared at the tombs as they passed, and he wondered how he could still be

walking when he didn't even seem to feel his feet moving.

Soon they reached a small building made of stone, with stained glass windows and a wooden front door. George shivered despite the warm sun. He looked around at his family, and he noticed that he wasn't the only one. His mother was crying silently, and Bill gave his father an encouraging look through bloodshot eyes. Arther nodded and squeezed his wife's hand.

"Let's go first, Molly."

He supported her as they went towards the wooden door, then they were gone.

George stared at the spot as if he wanted to hypnotize it, then he sighed and turned around. He walked a bit away from the remaining group. He felt the gravel underneath his shoes, he smelled the scent of the ancient trees, and he found himself at an old, weather-beaten tomb stone. He reached out his right hand and followed the engraved lines on the cool stone.

Paul Harrington. 6 March, 1881 – 3 November, 1969.

Letters and numbers – was that all that remained of you after death?

No, it couldn't be, George told himself over and over again, there had to be more to be left, somewhere in the memories of the people who had loved this man, a place for him to live on.

George didn't know how long he'd been standing there, ages, maybe, only minutes most probably. He felt a hand on his shoulder, "It's time", and as he looked up Charlie was there, his freckled face pale and his eyes reflecting his grief. He stared at him for a moment, at the one who had always looked most similar to him and Fred, the one who had been so much like them and whom they had seen so rarely in the past years, and without saying a word the two brothers hugged each other, trying to fill the emptiness inside. They remained like this for a few seconds, then they parted and Charlie led the way back to the little house, and George passed his parents who watched him anxiously. He felt the door knob under his hand, he heard his own foot steps echoing within the walls, the air was cold, and he couldn't breathe anymore.

White candles had been lit and were burning lightly, there were flowers and wreaths with banners in red and blue and black and silver and golden letters, but George hardly saw anything. His sight got caught by the object in the middle of the room, and he felt his legs tremble and his body becoming numb. He had feared this moment more than anything else, it was beyond everything he had ever felt before. He had never been afraid to face danger, to face the unknown, but this fight was harder, and he took deep breaths just to prevent himself from falling down. He approached the lightly brown, wooden coffin, and all his senses screamed at him to run away, but he had to be strong, be strong for him because that was what Fred would be, and he staggered and suddenly felt the wood underneath his fingers and there he was.

His eyes were shut, his magenta robes and his red hair forming a striking contrast to the white sheets on which he was lying, and he looked so peaceful that he could as well be asleep. But he didn't move, his body was still, and George didn't even notice the tears that were streaming down his face as he was staring at his brother. He didn't move either, he kept on standing there, trying to keep on breathing while an excruciating pain emerged in his chest, sending waves of agony through his body.

This couldn't be the end, it had to be the same old nightmare, it wasn't real, he told himself desperately, but as the rim of the coffin cut his hands he couldn't keep up the pretense.

"How could this happen?", his voice was raspy and barely audible, and he staggered on the spot, the world spinning around him, he concentrated on the face that seemed to be smiling up at him. One last smile for one last time.

"I'm so sorry, Fred…" It was only a whisper, his words were drenched in tears and drowned out by his sobs, and all the things he had never been able to say aloud finally came out without him being able to prevent it. "I should have been there, I… I left you alone, I'm so sorry", he gripped onto the coffin with both hands, "I'm scared, Fred, I'm so scared… how can I do this without you? I don't… I don't want this, Fred, dammit why do things never turn out the way we plan it?", his body was shaking with grief and tears were dropping onto his black robes, "Please wake up Fred, please… I miss you so much…"

He didn't want to leave this place, he didn't want to abandon his brother ever again, and as the door eventually opened and his father's hand reached for his own, he refused to let go.

"George… come with me."

"No, please…", and his father held him firmly, George turned his head and stared into his blue eyes, and he heard the distant words that didn't reach him. He searched for an answer to his questions in his father's eyes, but he couldn't give it to him, no one could.

"Why?"

The single word lingered in the room as the two persons embraced, father and son, united in their pain. The tiny question got nourished by the fire of the candles and the tears of the two men, and it remained there when they left the room, the older one supporting the younger, slowly walking towards the door.

* * *

_So many dreams were broken  
And so much was sacrificed  
Was it worth the ones we loved  
And had to leave behind?_

(Within Temptation, "Hand of Sorrow")


	6. Our Farewell II

Again sorry that it took me so long to write this, but this one was very important for me and I just wanted it to be... well, just right, you know? It might be the longest, I don't know, I only hope you like it. One more chapter to come! I've been watching HP tribute videos for the whole weekend, and they made me cry so much... I need to remind myself that it's only fiction, but somehow it doesn't work. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

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**6. Our Farewell II**

The warm sun was illuminating the scenery, painting the black robes with patches of gold. It was quiet now but for a bird singing somewhere in the trees.

George was sitting between Percy and Ron, and he was fine with that. He hadn't wanted to sit next to his mother, not because he didn't want to be close to her but because he thought that it would have made things even more difficult. The way she had looked at him earlier had made him want to run to her, hear her soothing words and feel her caress his back like she had done it a million times when he had been younger. But he knew that she couldn't give him the comfort he needed unless she found it for herself first.

People were passing by, some with a nod of the head, some with what was supposed to be an encouraging smile, some simply heading for their seats without looking at anyone in particular. There were lots of familiar faces, but George didn't try to recognize them. There were strangers he had never seen before, but he didn't care. His eyes were set onto the wooden casket surrounded by flowers, it was only a few metres away and yet it seemed unreachable. He tried not to stare at the black and white picture that had been placed in front of it, the photo of a smiling young man, a black ribbon tied around one corner of the frame. The picture was still, motionless as the body he had just seen. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't turn his eyes off it.

'Don't look at me like that, Fred', he thought in despair. 'Please don't do that.'

He blinked several times, and he didn't want to think about how crappy he had to look. Did it matter? Not to him at least. And most probably not to the others either.

He tried to breathe calmly, but every breath was so hard to take, his chest was aching, and for a moment he wondered if it wouldn't be better just to stop breathing. It would take the pain away, and wasn't this what he wanted? Didn't he want the pain to go away, not to feel hurt anymore? But even as the thought crossed his mind, he closed his eyes in self-contempt. How could he even think of such things when he could see his mother weeping and his father shaking and his brother staring blankly as if he would never be able to laugh again?

He shuddered involuntarily, and as he looked up he saw a familiar face staring at him in deep concern. He forced himself to a little smile and a nod as he recognized Mrs McGonnagall. She looked old, he thought, and he remembered that it had been a very hard year for her, too. Actually everyone around seemed to have changed, now that he had a closer look at them. He saw fellow classmates whose young faces were suddenly so grown-up that it scared him, how could a 17-year-old look so much like an old man? And he wondered if the others were maybe thinking the same about him.

His mind was distracted by a rather small wizard who stepped onto the pedestal in front of the rows of seats. The congregation fell silent and all eyes rested on the man in black robes. George felt a nervous sensation stirring in his stomach, and he wished that he could just stop time right now, because then he could pretend that everything was still okay, that nothing had happened, all those people were nothing but guests of another wedding, and Fred… well, he had to be the groom, hadn't he, otherwise he would be here. He definitely wouldn't miss that, not when his mother was shedding tears of emotion and his father was wearing his best suit. Fred would never do that.

But as a doleful melody floated between the heads of the people surrounding him, only to be drowned out by Ginny's sobs, he had to face that fact that dreams and wishes didn't always become true.

"We have assembled here today to say goodbye to Fred Weasley, a brave man who gave his young life in the fight against You-know-Who."

He had said it. Finally the words had been spoken, and George closed his eyes in pain as the wizard's words stabbed his heart.

"We express our condolences to Fred's family, his parents, brothers and sister, his relatives and friends. Many of us have suffered losses in our lives, so we can in some way relate to what they are going through right now, and know how they feel."

The sentences were closing in on George, wrapping him up like some sort of icy mist that made his body numb and his mind floating.

The words made no sense, how could this man be talking like that when he didn't have the faintest idea of how he, George, was feeling? He didn't know what it was like to be incomplete, how it felt like to be torn apart, he didn't know why he couldn't sleep at night and couldn't breathe at daylight. He just didn't know. Nobody did.

From the corner of his eye he glimpsed his parents, his mother was leaning against her husband, and he realized that he had been wrong. Some people did know what it felt like.

"Fred's death was a shock, it was tragic and unnecessary. Young people are supposed to live, not to die in a fight that should never have happened at all."

There was a moment of silence, and George could tell that he wasn't the only one to see images before his inner eye, pictures of Colin Creevey's dead body, Tonks' sparkling eyes, and so many more they'd lost along the way.

"I want you to remember Fred the way he was, like the man we loved, and I would like to remind you of this special person, but I am not the one who knew him best. I am only someone to mourn the death of a young man who will be missed dearly by those who are here today."

George could hear several people sniffing, but he also felt his brother tense up beside him, and he glanced sideways at Percy, but he just stared straight at the older man.

"Let me end with a wish: Fred Weasley died because he wanted to help to make the world a better place. Honour his sacrifice by making sure that it wasn't in vain. Do your best so that this world will be free from hurt and sorrow. Do this for you, for your children, and for those who sacrificed their lives in this fight."

With these words he stepped back, and fear filled George's body as he became aware of the people turning their heads towards him, his mother had stopped crying and the silence was worse than her sobs, and Ron looked at him, his eyes reflecting grief and anxiety.

Slowly he got up, taking a deep breath and trying not to look at his family. His feet moved him forward, he had lost control over his body long ago, but in the end he found himself right next to the wooden coffin and the motionless picture, and he felt like falling down onto the warm earth, never to get up again. But he had to do this, he reminded himself, he had to be strong for this one time, for Fred, and although he didn't believe he would be able to see it through, he swallowed hard and went on.

From his pedestal he looked at the people below, and seeing them all caused a lump in his throat. Everyone was there, all those who had accompanied him throughout the years, and he knew that Fred would have loved to see them again. He himself would have been glad if it only the occasion would be different. There were a lot of students from Hogwarts, current and former ones, and his eyes found those of Angelina. The young woman was sitting next to her best schooltime friend Alicia, and even from the distance he could see the sadness in their eyes. He remembered Fred and Angelina dancing at the Yule Ball – his brother hadn't made a great deal of it, but George knew how happy he'd been. Quickly he turned his head, only to find Oliver Wood sitting on his seat, his head in his hands, and in this moment the strong Quidditch player was nothing more than a boy who suffered.

George reached into his pockets and put out the piece of paper, and as he stared at it, everything suddenly seemed so wrong, what was the use of those words when they could never express anything he wanted to say? He closed his eyes for a second, and with calm hands he ripped the paper apart. The pieces laid in front of him, and he looked up and his eyes met Percy's. His older brother gave him a sad, almost begging look and shook his head slowly, and at first George was confused. Then he understood: it had to seem like he was going to run away, to leave without saying anything, and George forced himself to a smile as he tried to appear so much more self-confident than he actually was.

He glanced at the coffin a few feet away, and his words were barely audible as he whispered:

"Help me make it through this, Fred."

But for the first time in his life, he had to draw strength not from his twin's words, but from silence, and the thought was frightening him.

Pointing his wand at himself, he muttered "Sonorus", and exhaled deeply. So this was the moment. He hardly felt his heart beating as his voice filled the air.

"You know, last night I prepared my speech for this day, and I realized how hard it is to find the right words when you're lost for words inside. What is the sense in talking when every word hurts? And why should people be told what they already know?"

He paused for a moment, watching the audience. He didn't even know where this would lead him to, he had never been the one for long speeches, that had been Fred's part – but Fred was gone, he reminded himself, and it was up to him, he had to do it for his brother. His eyes met his father's, in spite of the tears that were filling his eyes, the older man gave his son an encouraging look. George let his eyes wander to the right where his mother was sitting, and she returned his look with so much love like only amother could give. It was this that made George's eyes sting painfully, and it was hard to fight back the tears, but he had to be strong…

"I could never imagine living without my twin, and I still can't. It's always been me and Fred, we've never been apart, and if someone had told me a few days ago that after 20 years I would lose my brother without being able to say goodbye, I would either have laughed, or forced this person to have a mouthful of Ton-tongue Toffees – the latter, most probably."

He could see several people smiling, among them Ron, on whose face the shed tears had left traces of silver, and Charlie who seemed to cry and chuckle at the same time.

"But nobody told me. Because no one ever thought that this could happen."

He wiped his eyes once as he felt a tear trickle down his cheek, he had expected this to be difficult, but he had never known that speaking could cause so much pain.

"I miss Fred more than I could ever express, but when I look at you who are here today, I know I don't have to tell you what it feels like. You know it."

Even as he said it, he doubted his own words. Of course everyone missed Fred, everyone mourned over his death, but no one of them had shared this special bond with his brother, it was something only those could understand who were twins themselves. He couldn't describe to them how he felt, how he was so incomplete, how some part of himself was missing, because no matter what he said, they would never really know.

"During the past days I've been wondering if Fred might somehow see us, hear how we talk about him, feel our pain. It's something I've never thought about to be honest, and now I ask myself if maybe I should have. But Fred and I never talked about such things, there was no need for it, not even when we decided to do our bit in the war against Voldemort."

He noticed that some people shivered as he said the name, and he frowned.

"Fred died to defeat Lord Voldemort, so I will not hesitate to say his name. That's what Fred wanted – a world in which nobody would have to be afraid anymore. That's what he fought for, that's what he died for. Fred wanted to make the world a better place, and when I look at the world today, I think that it is indeed a better place. This helps me to tell myself that Fred's death wasn't in vain, even when my – our – own little world has lost a little bit of its light…"

He was well aware of the tears that were running down his face now, he didn't try to wipe them away. They were hot on his skin, and they hurt like melted glass that was streaming down his skin. But still his voice was clear as he continued.

"Voldemort had to create Horcruxes, he tore his soul apart to live on and become immortal. But I know that you don't need a Horcrux when you're able to feel love. As long as we are here, a part of Fred's soul will still remain. He lives on through us, he lives in our memories, in the things he's said and done. That's how he'll always be there, in our hearts."

George turned his gaze away from the congregation in front of him to the wooden coffin at his right, and although everyone could hear him, his final words were for one person only.

"I'll be missing you with every passing day, Fred, and I admit that I haven't figured out how to make it without you. But I promise you that I'll give my best to keep you alive in my memories. As long as I live, you will never be completely gone. Never."

With a shaky hand he pointed his wand at himself once again, his lips formed the spell.

"Quietus."

A blow of the wind hit him, it whirled the pieces of paper and carried them away into the summer air.

George didn't watch them fly away.

He hardly heard his mother's sobs, he didn't see her tears, he didn't notice how Ginny squeezed both Harry's and Hermione's hand while tears were streaming down her face, and he didn't see Charlie stroking Percy's back as his younger brother was shaking with grief. His eyes were focused on the lightly brown casket and the wreath with the black banner.

_'In loving memory. Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, Ginny.'_

He touched it with his fingertips, and it felt so soft beneath his skin, and his body was shaking as he fell to the ground, everything became silent.

He reached into his pocket, opened his hand, and there they were, red lines on white skin. Two pieces, eternally entwined.

Nobody heard his whispered words as he was kneeling on the ground, the sun casting shadows onto his face, tears leaving silvery traces on his face.

"Evanesco."

The red ribbons vanished into nothingness, two pieces, forever as one.

* * *

_In my hands  
A legacy of memories  
I can hear you say my name  
I can almost see your smile  
Feel the warmth of your embrace  
But there is nothing but silence now  
Around the one I loved  
Is this our farewell?_

(Within Temptation, "Our Farewell")

* * *

**A/N: I liked to let George use the Vanishing Spell for the ribbons, because of how Professor McGonnagall explained it. Remember it? She was asked where vanished objects go to. She said, "They go into non-being, which is to say, everything." That's an idea I find fascinating, and I thought it fits the situation. I'm bad at explaining this... it just felt right.**


	7. Bittersweet: An Epilogue

So this is it. The final chapter, I kind of an epilogue, maybe. I apologize for keeping you waiting so long, but I just wanted this last chapter to sound right, you know? I admit that after all I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but well, perhaps you think differently.

Writing this story was kind of a therapy for me, I guess, as I'm not someone who shows her feelings too often, so I've always found some way to express myself in my written works.

You'll find an author's note at the end, but I want you to read this first, okay?

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**7. Bittersweet: An Epilogue**

He didn't know why he was running so fast, he had all the time in the world, hadn't he? And still his feet were moving as if the ground was on fire, the trees around him were but black shadows in the corner of his eyes, and he hardly heard the leaves rustling beneath his shoes. He just had to get away. Get away from the people who kept staring at him, run away from his mother's grief, from his father's pain, escape the suffocating walls of the place he used to call home.

The pictures of the dreadful hours after the funeral were stuck on his mind, melting with those of the wooden coffin sinking into the hole in the earth, a mixture of flashing images accompanied with the sad voice of the old wizard and with Percy's and Ginny's sobs. A symphony of dolour and despair, haunting him with every step he took on his way away from The Burrow.

They had been sitting together, his parents, his siblings, Harry and Hermione and Fleur, like they had used to do so often before. But this time someone had been missing, and the incompleteness had changed everything. The food they had once loved so much had gotten cold; they had avoided looks at the clock which they had stared at in delight when all hands had still been on "Home"; and when Harry had found a shiny green pastille under a cushion on the sofa, Mrs Weasley hadn't flown into a rage but burst into tears.

And every once in a while, somebody had stared at him, and it had been too much to take.

George knew that he should actually be thankful for their care, they didn't mean to hurt him or make him feel bad, but they didn't seem to undertand that no matter how much they tried, they would never be able to give him what he needed.

He remembered his mother's pale face when he had gotten up, apologizing quietly, and left the house. He had always known that his mother was suffering from the war, she had done that even when it hadn't really started, and it had become worse with every passing day since Ron had left. He had heard her crying, and he had felt weak because there was nothing to ease her pain.

But it had been nowhere near as bad as what he was feeling now.

He kept running, he could hear himself breathing loudly, but he wouldn't stop, because he still hoped that if he only ran fast enough, he would maybe be able to get rid of the haunting voice inside his head.

As he finally reached the edge of the forest, he slowed down and took deep, gasping breaths. His whole body was aching, but he barely felt the pain. He was used to that feeling now. He got aware of how sticky the air had become, in the distance he could see dark clouds approaching, but the sun was still shining, sending her light onto the field on which he was standing. The place was strangely familiar to him, he had been here before, and the memories flooded back to him, impressions of the past, two young boys strolling through the countryside, making stupid jokes and daring plans, dreaming of the days to come.

None of these dreams had been for one of them only.

"Where are you, Fred?", his words were silent screams, tumbling in the upcoming wind, getting lost in the summer air that tasted like rain.

_'He is gone. He is gone. He is gone.'_

The haunting voice within laughed at him, enjoying his pain, and he wanted to fight it down, oh how much he wanted to, but he couldn't find the strength anymore, he couldn't fight, what was the sense in fighting?

_'But you can't give yourself up like that!'_, another voice, though tiny and weak, whispered to him, and he stared at the darkening sky as if there was someone talking to him in the distance, and the small voice didn't leave this time. _'You're a fighter, aren't you?'_

"I can't…", his words were barely audible, his view got blurred and he clenched his fists, "I don't know how to do this on my own…"

_'If you give yourself up, you give up on Fred, too… He's still a part of you – you won't lose him as long as you don't lose yourself…'_

"But I need you to be here, Fred…"

Tears were rolling down his white face, and he stumbled forwards, trying in vain to hear the soothing voice again, but it was gone with the wind that kept blowing steadier.

He was alone.

He was standing on the open field, the grass beneath was moving in the wind, dark clouds were approaching from the distance, and suddenly he felt so small and the world too big for him to understand, who was he to beg for time to be turned back?

His feet kept on moving, and he stared at the distant hedgerows that were still illuminated by the remaining sunlight while the shadows of the clouds came nearer with every second. He focused on the bright place, he had to get there, and it was only when he finally reached the iron gate that he stopped running. His hands clenched the cool bars, and the old hinges creaked when he opened the gate slowly.

The gravel path was rustling underneath his feet, the last rays of light were blinding his eyes, and he didn't see where he was going to until his feet stopped moving.

He stared at the fresh mould on the ground, at the green wreaths with white flowers, at the banners and candles.

'You've only flown a bit ahead. Angelina, Alicia, Katie, Oliver.'

'The memories will remain. Your Hogwarts teachers.'

'Thank you for the times we shared. Lee Jordan.'

The colourful banners were fluttering in the wind, the golden and silver letters blurred in front of George's eyes, and he touched them slightly, carefully, as if his fingers could erase them miraculously. Would it change anything?

But as he raised his head, he realized that nothing could ever make it undone, not when there was a white stone only a few inches away from where he was standing, and he stumbled and felt the cold earth beneath his knees. His fingers reached for the black, engraved lines, he could feel them like scars on his skin, and he traced them with his fingertips, every single one leaving its marks on his heart.

_Fred Weasley  
April 1978 - June 1998  
Beloved son, brother, friend, Gryffindor, beater, and prankster.  
Gone But Not Forgotten  
May you Rest in Peace_

He could feel some drops of rain on his bare forearms, the wind was increasing, strands of his hair covered his eyes, and he wiped them away. He could feel the hot tears on his skin, and he had to turn his head away from the cold stone although his fingers lingered on the letters to never let go.

His eyes rested on an antique sundial that had been placed on a nearby grave, he stared at the thin shadowy line, and he couldn't tell why this object made him feel so strange inside, like he was witnessing something rather old, from former times that were beyond his imagination, like so many other things he had experienced during the last days. He watched the line wandering slowly, like it had done a million times before, following natur's course without a way to be turned back.

In that moment the dark clouds covered the last part of the setting sun, the light evaporated into nothingness, the small shadow was erased and time stood still.

Rain came down in torrents, drenching the soil, the flowers, the banners, the young man who was kneeling motionlessly on the ground. The cool liquid mingled with the tears on his face, washed them away into the ground below, and still George's fingers rested on the black letters, the white stone had changed into a darker shade, but he didn't notice.

His lips formed words that were immediately drowned out by the rain, and they echoed inside his mind, and he kept repeating them for fear he might lose them.

"I will fight for us, Fred. I promise you I will. But please don't blame me if I fail…"

The hot tears had vanished into the ground, the rain was cool on his pale face, and the shaking of his shoulders eased with every raindrop that fell onto his black robes.

"I will keep you alive in everything I do. I'll fight for us every single day, I promise you this. I won't give up. Never."

And for the first time in what seemed an eternity, he believed in what he was saying. He might not know how to do it, but he did know that there was no other way but fight to find his way back into life. That was what he owed Fred, and if he couldn't find strength for himself, he could still be strong for his twin.

"I won't disappoint you, Fred."

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_All my thoughts are with you forever  
Till the day we'll be back together  
I will be waiting for you_

(Within Temptation, "Bittersweet")

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A/N: I know that this is a rather open ending, but I did that for a reason: first of all because I found it hard to pretend that it is all over now, I want to stick to Rowling's idea that George will never fully get over it, and this ending leaves some room for you rown ideas. And second, it also leaves room for a sequel! ;) Yes, I've decided to write a sequel to show how George finds his way back into life. I liked **Gone But Not Forgotten**'s proposal about showing George with his son, but there's so much more that could be shown, and I think I'll give it a try. What do you think? 

Hm just one more thing: I want to dedicate this story to some people, skip this if you want to...

First of all, I dedicate it (and this chapter in particular) to **Gone But Not Forgotten**, for her reviews and especially for allowing me to use her idea in this story: the lines on Fred's tomb stone are hers! Thanks for that!

This is also a thank you for **MBP**, your reviews were so insightful, and knowing that you actually care about my reviews for your story makes me quite proud and very happy!

This is for my mother because I hardly ever show how much I care. I want you to know that you're always in my heart.

And it's for my uncle, her twin brother - because he knows what it feels like...

To all the readers: Thank you for your support. You were awesome!

Oh, and one more thing (I know I'm annoying...): I've made a tribute for those who died in the second war, nothing special, but maybe you want to have a look at it... just go to Youtube and search for LittleDarky!


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